Dream boat
by MLaw
Summary: Illya Kuryakin is lost in the desert... Written for the Song Story challenge on Section7mfu, live journal. The prompt was the song "The River" by Garth Brooks


Death was imminent, of that he was convinced. The water in his canteen was running low; his fair skin was red from the sun. He'd finally wrapped his khaki shirt around his head, but that left his arms and back exposed. Either way, he was getting sunburned.

Still in spite of his fatalism, he had to keep moving, that's all he knew.

He couldn't give up, he just had to make it through.

Checking his compass, ensuring he was still headed in what he believed to be the right direction; he forced himself to move. He tried his communicator one more time, but still there was no signal.

Stumbling and falling a few times, he willed himself to get up and keep going. He had to keep going, through the felt nauseous and the landscape seemed to sway beneath his feet, rocking to and fro.

There was nothing but sea of sand surrounding him; there was no point turning back as he'd come this far. He laughed at that oxymoron.. _.a sea of sand._

What he wouldn't give to be by the sea, to dance with the tide, wading out into the cool waves and diving head first into would paddle, drive himself upwards, shaking the water from his blond hair as he broke the surface.

Would that he could do that right now.

Turning and looking back; his footprints were no longer visible as the desert winds had made them disappear. It was if he'd never been there...the sand would eventually see to that once death had taken him. His body would be eaten away by the sand until there was nothing left but his dry bones, bleached white by the sun.

He had no idea how long he was walking; checking the position of the sun was pointless as its brightness hurt his eyes.

Finally Illya Kuryakin stopped and drained the last of the water from his canteen, tapping it as he held it above his parched lips.

It had finally run dry.

Looking up, he saw birds gliding above him and for a brief moment that gave him a glimmer of hope, then he realized they could be vultures circling him.

He dropped to his knees, raising his hand to shield his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings.

There was still nothing but desert sand as far as he could see, yet there were those birds riding the hot winds above him, or were they? Were they real or a mirage?

He closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the oasis. That was after all his destination.

"Perhaps the power of positive thinking? He snickered to himself. He knew it was out there somewhere and he just had to find it.

He pictured it filled with tall palm and date trees creating a wonderful areas of shade. There was a pool of crystal clear, sweet tasting water that was trickling down from among a cluster of large boulders.

He heard the sound of goats bleating and a woman appeared wearing the robes of a Bedouin, in her hands she carried a shepherds crook as she moved the goats to water at the pond.

Illya's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself not in the desert, but laying on blankets and pillows within a tent. He felt something on his forehead and reached for it.

"No no, leave it be," a woman's gentle voice spoke. "It's a wet cloth to cool your fevered brow."

"Where am I?" He asked, his voice was barely there as he throat was parched. His lips were cracked and that made it even more painful to speak.

"Here, drink this slowly," she helped him lift his head as she held a cup of water to his lips. Illya drank it all, letting his head fall back to the pillow.

She was beautiful, with dark long hair, and almond shaped eyes; her olive colored skin looked soft and smooth and she smiled at him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You are welcome. To answer your question, you are in the tent at the oasis of Sheik Ilderim bin Sultan Al Maktoum. It was by the grace of my brothers Salim and Bashir that you were found in the desert not far from here and brought to us."

She helped him while he drained another cup of water before dabbing his lips with honey.

"What is your name?" The girl asked.

"Illya, Illya Kuryakin, and…" he coughed."Your name?"

"It Roya."

"Thought I was dreaming...is there a pool in the oasis? Tall palms, dates and water trickling down from large boulders? I heard goats."

"You say you dreamed of this?"

"I did. I closed my eyes and imagined it and when I opened my eyes again I was here. I saw you herding the goats. Was it you? I find it interesting that your name means ' _dream'_ in Arabic," he realized he was babbling a bit and stopped himself.

"Yes that is what my name and you described our oasis perfectly. It has been in our family for many years and one may only use it with the permission of the Sheik. His mark is clearly made showing this place is his. You could not have seen me with the goats as they had been watered and fed before my brothers carried you in from the desert. They were returning with their caravan of camels, bringing us supplies."

"Then I am indeed lucky in many ways." He could see she was a bit upset by the details of his dream." It appears I have a very good imagination."

For a moment their eyes met, and both of them felt themselves drawn to each other.

There was a commotion outside the tent and breaking eye contact, the girl stood, going to see what was happening.

Illya didn't have the strength just yet to get up, and he was just about ready to close his eyes again when he remembered his was still in his pocket. For some unknown reason he could not get a signal while out in the desert.

"Perhaps now?" He wondered. Illya quickly assembled the device with a practiced hand and spoke into the microphone once it was ready.

"Open Channel F- Solo. Are you there Napoleon?"

"Hi there, if it isn't the prodigal son. How are you? A bit sunburned?"

"Yes I nearly...how you say, 'bought the farm,' but I was rescued."

"Yes by the sons of Sheik Ilderim bin Sultan Al Maktoum; his daughter Roya has been nursing you back to health."

Illya thought he was losing his mind at this point.

"Napoleon, how do you know all this?"

"Because I'm right here tovarisch," Solo lifted the tent flap and revealed himself to his partner. "After straightening things out with the Sheik as to why I was here...well, _I'm here."_

"But how? I just called you."

"Your communicator was offline but once you arrived here, I was able to get a signal and home in on your location. We flew in by chopper from Cairo. Roya told me you've been out of it for most of the day."

"Oh, good," Illya's eyes began to close. He could let himself succumb to sleep as he knew he was truly safe now that Napoleon was here.

He was glad he hadn't given up.

Roya ushered Napoleon from the tent. "Come, my father awaits you to take food with him. Afterwards my five sisters will dance for you."

Napoleon's eyes lit up as he heard that and before leaving the tent he cast a glance back to his partner.

"Do not trouble yourself about him Mr. Solo, I will continue caring for him until he is strong enough to leave."

Once Napoleon left Roya slipped over towards Illya, she could see his blue eyes watching her as she moved.

Every so slowly she removed her garments, as well as his his and without a word being said their bodies became entwined as they made love. He moaned and thrust again and again until he was about to release himself…

.

"Finally," April Dancer smiled as she changed the wet cloth on Kuryakin's forehead. "His fever just broke."

"That's a relief," Napoleon said as he held onto the til, navigating their small boat along the Nile river. "I was getting tired of all his moaning and groaning."

"Napoleon! That's a terrible thing to say," April chided him.

"I didn't mean it that way, then again I suppose it was better than hearing him getting seasick," Solo chuckled.

"He'd get sick even in a little boat like this, darling?"

 _"Oh yeah…_ "

Illya's eyes suddenly opened. He was startled at the change of setting. Where was Roya? Was he not just making love to her?

Where am I?" He seemed completely disoriented. _"Napoleon?"_

"In the flesh."

"Me too darling," April chimed in. "How are you feeling?"

He wasn't quite sure how to answer that, and she could see his confusion.

"Just take it easy dear, we're almost to our destination," she replaced the cloth on his head.

"Where is that?"

"The shoreline. We're not far from Aswan. We have to stop before we reach the Cataracts, you know rough water… rapids?"

"What happened to me?" Illya asked.

"Your plane went down in the desert and you were the only survivor. Luckily you were found by some Bedouins and were well taken care of by the Sheik until we were able to get to you."

"Was there an oasis?"

Napoleon looked at him strangely."Not that I'm aware of. You were pretty much out of it when we got to you."

As Solo navigated their boat to the shore, he and April helped Illya to his feet. He was still disoriented and spoke of a woman named Roya."

"Illya, there wasn't any girl, just two Bedouins named Salim and Bashir, the sons of a local Sheik. Are you losing your mind?"

Kuryakin suddenly wretched, and leaning forward, he vomited on Napoleon's shoes.

"Sorry," he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Napoleon grimaced as he removed his shoes, carrying them in one hand while helping April guide Illya towards the awaiting car.

Mark Slate hurried to their aide, taking over for Solo,

"You're not putting those shoes inside the car he warned. Put them in the boot or they'll stink everything up to high heaven."

Illya was laid down in the back seat, his head resting on April's lap.

He closed his eyes again, dreaming of the girl...


End file.
